


Spank! & Blend

by Lelka



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Kawaii, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-10-08 03:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lelka/pseuds/Lelka
Summary: Unimpressed by the poor fashion Chrollo cast upon the runway, a certain rival plans to steal more than just his standing ovation.





	1. Chapter 1

The small lights mounted to the sides of the smooth white runway were shut off as the room was being dimmed, but one ceiling light didn't die away. A young man walked into the light from backstage, his hair slicked back, faux fur coat adorning his broad shoulders. He stopped in the spotlight and gracefully slid his hands into his pockets. He was not a model, but he was just as elegant as the ones he designed for.

Applause flooded the room as he waved to the audience, about to give his opening speech. Once the clapping had died down, he began humbly, "Welcome, and thank you for attending tonight's show. With the completion of the spring's fashion line, I'm ecstatic to see so many people have gathered to have a first look at something my team and I have worked so hard for.

"I was born in a poor town, and was orphaned by the time I could talk. Back then, I had admired and envied the rich. But hope was not lost for me," the designer said dramatically, "as I was blessed to meet my true family: my current partners, and my best friends." He paused and smiled towards the audience.

"We worked together to make a name for ourselves in something we all had passion for: the artistry of fashion… All of us as children never had the chance to wear such elegant clothing, and some of us had no clothes other than what was on our backs. We worked hard to reach our goal. And we succeeded. Now, we wish the same fortune to the young talented model who will debut tonight of all nights!"

A designer in the sea of people perked up. His pale hands clasped together in interest and wonder of the new model. Colorful card suits decorated his collared shirt, and he inquired himself whether it would be formal enough to make conversation with the model after the show. While he kept to his thoughts, the man in the spotlight continued his speech.

"In collaboration with Debonair hair products, we were able to bring this talented, fresh face to our show." He advertised the products quickly, and on a personal level: unwillingly; though he could not deny that the products weren't lavish. The young man quit his silent thoughts, and grandly raised his arms in the air. "So without further ado, I, Chrollo Lucilfer, present you my 'Gloomy Spring' collection modeled by my team, the Phantom Troupe, and our debuting star, Code Name: Gittarackur!"

Whispering flooded the viewing area as Chrollo made his way off of the runway. “‘Gitta-’ what now?” one woman whispered. “‘Gittarackur’, I think it was,” a man replied. The designer in the crowd sat still, and continued to look on. He didn’t care what the model’s name was, as long as they were good. The spotlight went out, lights on the either side of the runway sparkling to life, blue hued light erupting from each one. Music began to boom, pulsing throughout the room. The designer in the crowd smiled as the lights illuminated a thin, messy-haired silhouette.

 _It appears my lovely Machi is with the big league now_ , he thought with a sly grin gracing his lips. As Machi walked down the runway, she hardly acknowledged the man who treasured her. She hardly liked him, but still blew a kiss to him at the end of the runway. She posed several times, showing off the bark-colored, leaf-patterned knitted shorts, and white, unhemmed crop top with a wilting flower embroidered onto the breast pocket.

It was too bad she was wearing fishnets under the shorts, as the spectating designer wished she had shown more skin. They looked nice, decorated with small artificial flowers, but the designer wanted to see his girl show more of her lovely self. As the pink-haired girl removed her knitted gray cardigan to show off the crop top better, she mouthed to the designer, _Better not, Hisoka_ . She turned and made her way back up the runway, turning to give everyone one last look at the outfit before walking off.

Hisoka was already blushing simply thinking of Machi. Her skills were so elegant, so magnificent. And her body could rock any outfit, even the ones she refused to model. Her sewing was beautiful, and her knitting and embroidery were exceptional pieces of artwork. The designer would have hired Machi to model for him, but after he had abandoned the Phantom Troupe to work solo, she hadn’t looked at him the same.

The next one to walk the runway was Shizuku, he recognized. Her outfit looked softer with a wool lined bomber jacket over a black bra, a small pink artificial rose sewn onto the gore. She had ripped, faded blue jeans and earthy combat boots. Her spring-related article was the jacket, a blooming flower embroidered on the back of the jacket. She had embroidery on the back jean pockets that Hisoka had had noticed as she walked back down the runway.

By far, the designer was yet to be incredibly impressed by Chrollo's line. He realized that he should've expected the blandness. The word "gloomy" was in the line's title after all. If it were his own show, Hisoka would have had the crowd screaming for more by then. He would have bright colors, avant-garde looks, and he had recently contemplated platform shoes. It really was a shame to see something so pathetic, but he would wait patiently for this new model to walk the runway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long!
> 
> I've been fairly busy in this past month, with projects, school work and anime conventions. I was so glad to get A's and meet people like Vic Mignogna (ENG VA for: Tamaki Suoh, Edward Elric, Rin Matsuoka, etc.), David Vincent (ENG VA for: Senketsu, Phinks, Duval, etc.), and Hara Natsuko (JAP VA: Amino Tokine, Amaretsu, Saeki Reina, etc.).
> 
> I'm also pretty caught up in Mystic Messenger. I completed Zen and Yoosung's route, and am on the 3rd day aiming for Jaehee's route. 
> 
> I've been learning so many things and have been totally ignoring Spank! & Blend (sure the title doesn't make sense, but it will later). At least I have knowledge on binary, Hangul, coding, Kawaii fashion (of course ><) and so much more that has put me off the track of writing ;-;
> 
> But I feel so blessed to have all of these opportunities T_T and with Easter being tomorrow, I had to publish this now!!
> 
> Even though it's not long, the next chapter will be much more insightful!
> 
> Thank you for reading~

Flowing navy blue trench coat, and dark, open blazer with matching trousers with a yellow, floral patterned t-shirt underneath. By far, it was the most eye-catching piece to come down the runway, as modeled by the oh-so-stoic Feitan, though, Hisoka hardly gave it credit because of its too-simple-to-be-original vibe. Of course, each and every one of his pieces caught the audience by surprise. Each one had a splash of color, and each one was his favorite word: bright.

The designer’s current focus was decora: a brilliantly over-the-top,  _ bright,  _ and colorful fashion from Japan. With the models from the Phantom Troupe having rotated twice, he was becoming impatient waiting for the new model. Feitan had gone back down the runway, and Machi came back out in the first outfit she had worn, then Shizuku, Shalnark, Pakunoda, and Feitan, all wearing the controversially “best” outfits that they had modeled. They came down in a line, walking synchronized, and continually moving.

Once the models finished their final walk, the lights went out and the music dropped dead quiet. Hisoka’s expression lightened, and he felt his chest thumping with excitement. The music slowly became louder and livelier, the bass pleasantly rattling the room. White lights now gleamed from the sides of the runway, clicking on pair by pair until it cast a silhouette of a tall, long-haired figure.

The shadow pulled into the light, gold-rimmed, purple-tinted sunglasses masking the mysterious model walking down the runway. An off-white halter top, bare trees embroidered beautifully onto the piece, with a black leather jacket slipping off of the model’s shoulders. Olive green joggers with beautiful gold zippers on the knees of the pants, and on the pockets of the leather jacket. Hisoka was in awe, eyes wide and stuck on the model. The long black hair flowed gracefully while walking, and when posing, it fell so naturally. The designer had to get his hands onto this opportunity. He hadn't had a female model with such a slim, tall figure, and androgynous appearance. Easily, she could be mistaken as a male with her nonexistent chest and slight build, but the spectator understood the rigorous training to stay slim enough to be a model.

The model stopped at the end of the runway and posed several time, even running her hand through her hair. She looked elegant with her dark hair gracefully flowing behind her as she walked, and falling naturally over her shoulders as she posed.

Hisoka could hardly focus on critiquing the piece. All he saw was the natural beauty of the model. Slim waist, boxy chest, thin figure: they were the ingredients to make the perfect model, and there was not a chance that the previous Phantom Troupe member would allow such an opportunity to swim away. He would have to bait his trap, and lure her in. Surely a model like that would not be left alone, and would become a supermodel in no time, but the problem was that she used such a strange stage name.

_ Gittarackur _ . It was more than strange. It did not ring a bell, yet that strangeness made it a name that wouldn’t be a stranger anytime he heard it thereafter. 

She left the stage and as Chrollo stepped back out into the spotlight, everyone around the stage stood, applause flooding the entire room, just as loud, or louder than the music had been. Whistles erupted from some areas in the crowd, but the one who was yet to erupt was Hisoka. The designer stayed perfectly still sitting in his chair.

The show was uninteresting besides the models. He had no reason to stand, nor did he have a reason to stay. 

Leaving the building was easy, but trying to find his opportunity was difficult. Hisoka stalked outside, waiting for Gittarackur to leave so he could snatch his prey, like a shark would to a fish. Shalnark left, then Phinks, Kortopi, Feitan, Bonolenov, Franklin and Machi who of course, ignored any cat call the designer beckoned her with. 

Chrollo left, and spectators also left, but Gittarackur had not.

Leaving. It was the hardest thing to do. He had wasted his money and time with the Phantom Troupe, even after he had left. It was ridiculous in his mind that he even attended since he only showed up to be disappointed every time. He showed up to boast, and butt heads with Chrollo, occasionally winking at Machi: an estranged girlfriend of his, if they even were dating at all. It was more like they were both dating their work—designing—but rather than it being two people loving their jobs, it was a threesome, where work was the third wheel that was so intimately involved that it was part of the relationship.

Caught up in his dazed thoughts, Hisoka had almost ignored the beautiful lady stride past him. 

“You know, it’s dangerous for a pretty one like you to be out so late by yourself. Haven’t your parents set a curfew?” he said lustfully.

Long hair, a pale complexion, highlighted by the moonlight, and a large coat to cover any figure underneath. She put her hand up, bowed her head down and kept walking. Though, it wasn't a gesture the designer would gladly take.

“Would a number kill you? A name?” he protested, distracting his thoughts away from Gittarackur. When there was no response besides quicker walking, Hisoka took the lead ahead of the woman, backing her into a car.

She gasped sharply and caught herself on the trunk of the car, but not before Hisoka could pin her between his arms. For a designer, he was awfully muscular, the woman had noticed. “Come on. A nickname?” he pressed flirtatiously. How he wanted to reach for her sunglasses and pull them off to reveal eyes that might shimmer in the moonlight, and ravage the body hiding under the heavy trench coat she wore. Oh, how she was modelling material. The excitement wanted to burst out of Hisoka, but he resisted.

Seeing the lust in his expression, the woman sighed and tried to push him back with her hand. When he relented, she gave up. She didn't want to speak with Hisoka, but what choice did she have?

“I don't mean to offend you if you're gay, but I’m not into guys, much less gay rapists.” The designer quickly jumped off of what seemed to be a man, and not a woman. For a male, his hair was awfully nice. Caught up in embarrassment, Hisoka groaned, his hand covering his eyes.

“In any case, you shouldn’t approach women, or men, like that. I wouldn't be surprised if you had a criminal record,” he continued. 

“Sorry about that,” was all the designer was able to mutter in complete astonishment. He couldn't believe that the person he tried to seduce was a guy.

The young man reached into his pocket and said, “I'll let this slide if you take my business card. And ten bucks.” He pulled out a clean looking card and held it out for the designer. Hisoka took it, unwilling to have any involvement with authorities. He pulled out his wallet, slipping the card in, and taking the money out, handing it back to the man. 

The guy took it and pushed up his sunglasses to check the bill. Ten as promised. He propped his sunglasses upon his head and slipped the money into his pocket. He looked towards the designer and said, “Read my business card if you still want my name.”

Not bothering to look up to the guy, Hisoka read the card. “‘Gittarackur’,” he read aloud. A smile crawled onto his face. An opportunity. A star. A sensation. Hisoka planned to contact him. He looked up from the card and immediately his face drained.

Hollow eyes. Stoic expression. Solemn and dead. The designer saw nothing but emptiness within Gittarackur.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired, but luckily I'm getting pretty fantastic awards tonight from my school and from the state.
> 
> I finished the Jaehee route in Mystic Messenger and I recently got sick. I had all the symptoms of strep throat according to my doctor but I didn't have which is so good to hear, but I'm still stuck with a nasal drip.
> 
> Thankfully, I'm recovering, and I've been learning some new art techniques. I also am trying League of Legend but I suck. 
> 
> I finally got this done after how much procrastination and two days of binge watching every episode of the tragically short Ouran High School Host Club. I had a total meltdown after I finished. I thought it had 2 seasons, but I never checked. I also made a video game. WOOOOO.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Sitting up in the middle of the night just to stare at the wall was routine for Gittarackur. Sometimes he had a hard time falling asleep for no reason other than he wasn’t tired or had something on his mind. When he was in school, he thought about tests, projects, and assignments to be done. On the occasions in which his younger brother ran away, he thought about him, sometimes whispering, “Killua… Killua…” But after he came back, he’d sleep easily. He had been able to sleep well for months, but that night was different. 

His debut went fine and the public was going crazy over the androgynous appearance. Chrollo didn’t make him nervous or uncomfortable either, and his models in the Phantom Troupe were all great. Gittarackur had no reasons to fear the boss of the Spiders. It’s not like he was a rival or trying to seduce that pink-haired girlfriend of his. 

It was that crazy guy who tried to hit on him after the show. He kept rethinking what he said, how he should have said it. It’s not like he meant to call him a rapist, but then again he really didn’t know if he wasn’t.

Gittarackur felt a light on his face.

“Go to sleep soon, Illumi. You have to help your brothers and I tomorrow in the studio,” he heard his mother say, shining a flashlight in his face.

He nodded. “Yes, mother.” He continued staring at the wall ahead of him and slowly laid back down. Gittarackur, rather Illumi, closed his eyes. He heard soft patting approaching his bed, and suddenly the side of his bed sunk.

“Illu, don’t worry. I’m sure you did fine this evening. It’s a shame we could not attend, but you understand what’s going on with Alluka…” she trailed, stroking his head as she would a child.

Without opening his eyes, he nodded.

Illumi felt his bed rise again and heard the soft patting distance itself from him. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” his mother said tenderly.

The model sighed and laid on his back, then his side, then on his back again. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Now he had even more on his mind. Would Alluka ever recover? How did Killua feel right then since they visited that evening? How was his father doing? Was Kalluto going to go to public or private school this year? Would that designer/catcaller/possible homosexual ever request him as a model? How would the media be reacting tomorrow to his performance? Would people start causing unwanted controversy?

Illumi drowned in the peace of sleep, his thoughts whirling in his mind. The stress was gone, his worries faded away, and he wished he could stay asleep a bit longer than his schedule allowed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a trip so I won't create a super long chapter in July, and I'm also going to finish school in a couple of weeks! I did the Jumin route and am trying to get all the bad endings before doing Seven's route.
> 
> I'm tired. I will continue writing. But I am tired. I know where this story will go, but I don't know where it will end. And thank you for reading.

Hisoka awoke to a stiff back, sore neck, and warmth on his stomach. He had slept on the ground with his laptop on top of him. With a long yawn, he pushed the device onto the hardwood floor. If only he had bought a rug, or a penthouse with a carpet in the living area.

The designer sat up with a groan, and tapped on the laptop’s touchpad, slowly typing in his password, still trying to wake up. 

He was researching Gittarackur. He stared at the cardstock, the word “GITTARACKUR” staring him in the face with a phone number, email address, and social media page which had one picture posted and a generous “10k” over the word “FOLLOWERS”.

It was like he had it all: thousands of followers overnight, people absolutely in love with his looks, controversy about his gender (which Hisoka discovered in the worst way possible) already boosting his media coverage, and a seriously humiliating way to fight catcalling. It took Hisoka years to build that kind of fame, and it wasn’t like he was very famous anymore.

The designer had lost fame after he decided to leave the Phantom Troupe. He had already become renown for his designs, his occasional modeling gigs for magazines, and for being a stylist, full of advice on trends and how to stick out in the best way possible. And of course he had been a judge on a fashion show that ended when he still felt like he could pursue being a TV personality. Being notably  _ brighter _ , and a truly well rounded member of the Spiders he doubted that leaving would affect him much.

But it did. And it chucked his credibility out the window.

Scandals about Hisoka sexually assaulting people, stealing designs, and suddenly his love life were suddenly the center of attention. He still remembered headlines like “DESIGNER HISOKA MOROW ACCUSED OF ASSAULTING MODEL” or “HISOKA AND MACHI OF THE PHANTOM TROUPE DATING?” and even with his reputation rising no higher than his heels, the allegations had no support, and catcalling was not enough to prosecute anyone (but he did get shit for it). Not to mention Machi took things into her own hands and held a press conference to say that they had once been slightly interested, but never were dating, never will be.

Ever since, she had resented him. Just a little.

And now this young man was blowing up. He hoped he wouldn’t be a fad. Gittarackur did have good looks and it was as if he had been modeling for years. Men didn’t usually become supermodels, but no one knew he was a guy. Hell, no one even knew if he was a girl.

Hisoka looked at his browser. Emails. Journalists wondering what the hell he was doing at the fashion show for the group that he had left, asking about his current relationship with the group, when his new line was coming out, blah, blah, blah… It was the usual junk that he gave one sentence replies to, most of them lies like, “I wanted to see how they were doing because I still care” or “I went to see if there were any other designers at the show because I want to do a collaboration” but of course nothing he said ever happened or was proven.

He deleted the emails and shut his laptop. When the designer checked the time, it was 8 o’clock in the morning.

“Time to eat,” he said to himself, rising, and going to his kitchen.

How he adored his kitchen as much as he adored his design studio. The quartz countertops, steel appliances, and the floating island at the center of it all, three matching barstools on one side, draws full of utensils on the other. The backsplash was his favorite thing in the kitchen: tiles that looked like stone, felt like stone, and could fool anyone into thinking it was stone. The colors varied, at least 5 different tile colors. The floor was beechwood, and it was lifeproof making spills a distant memory with one swipe of the contrastingly cheap paper towels he would buy.

As bland as it was, the kitchen was probably his favorite place in the penthouse.

Hisoka made himself a breakfast of toasted waffles and a cup of water. It was boring, but then again, as much as he loved the kitchen, he couldn’t cook.

He took up his phone, scrolling through his social media. A dozen new followers, and 56 likes. More importantly, there were a lot of new posts on his feed. Chrollo (who he still followed just to be courteous) had posted a lot about his fashion show, a video from an addicting page that made fail compilations, a design WIP from Kurapika who was striving to become more successful than the Phantom Troupe…

“Kikyo Zoldyck, designer workshop. Get tips from a pro in this two hour session, just $350,” Hisoka muttered to himself. Kikyo was absolutely amazing. Her influence was historical and cultural styles. She and her husband, Silva, were famous. The things they would make together were outstanding: ballroom gowns that were fit for a queen, kimono that were designed like any other, but with silk that were bright colors, and the modern clothing they made always had a nostalgic feeling, like a blast from the past.

Hisoka quickly finished his breakfast and got ready for the day. He put on a plain collared shirt and slipped a blue tie around his neck, finishing the look with a brown sweater vest and khakis. He decided to look more professional and scholarly. It was simple, not like he wanted to stick out anyway, but with his hair, he already would be recognized by press. He didn’t want the press to pester him when he was trying to get somewhere so important.

The designer packed a messenger bag full of sketches and some unfinished pieces, and left his penthouse for the workshop. 


End file.
